Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent
by Mornwey
Summary: The search for the Horcruxes, as the Second War moves towards its climax and becomes ever more violent...how far will the Order go to ensure victory?
1. Goodbye

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Author's Notes: I'll admit it – I'm only writing this because I'm so damn sick of waiting for the real seventh book to come out. I'm impatient…so sue me.**

**Chapter 1 – Goodbye**

**_Wherein Tonks is Respectable, Aunt Petunia is Nice, and Harry is thoroughly confused by both of the aforementioned_**

Harry couldn't have been happier if he'd never had to go back to Privet Drive again. But Dumbledore had said he was supposed to…so he found himself – for the last time; thank Merlin – once more climbing into the back of his uncle's car in the street outside King's Cross Station.

_At least it's just for a few weeks_, he thought in a vain attempt to cheer himself up. It didn't work.

But as he hauled his trunk upstairs to his bedroom, he found himself newly impervious to the sneering and taunts of his 'family'. Not that the comments were any less offensive – more so, in fact. But so much was happening, so much had to be done, that the disdain of his few remaining family members meant little to him. They no longer figured in his world view.

But even so, the only thing that kept him sane over the following weeks was the correspondence he got from friends and Order members:

…_Bill and Fleur's wedding won't be at the Burrow, we're too much of a target for Death Eaters now. Mum isn't happy about it but Lupin persuaded her that it'd be safer to hold it at the new headquarters. Course it'd be even safer to have it when the war's over, but no-one even suggested that. I mean, if one of them got killed…_

…_I hope your family aren't being too awful, but even if they are you'll be able to come away with us soon. They've decided that Grimmauld Place isn't safe any more so we're moving to new headquarters. I can't tell you where in case this letter falls into the wrong hands but it's a lot closer to Hogwarts, barely an hour's broom-flight, and apparently very well protected from Muggles and unfriendly wizards…_

And then, finally, the owl he'd been waiting for, not so much a letter as a hastily scrawled note;

_Harry,_

_We're coming for you on Tuesday night at eleven o'clock. Be ready._

_Remus_

So Tuesday night at ten to eleven saw Harry hurriedly stuffing the last of his possessions into his old school trunk. He wasn't sure exactly who would be coming for him, but given his family's hatred of anything magical it probably wouldn't make much difference. _After all, _he reflected as he forced the lid of the trunk shut, _I won't have to see them again._

As he lugged the heavy trunk downstairs, Harry cursed the timing of his birthday. Most of his old classmates were already seventeen, but it was still three more weeks until his birthday, meaning that he was still bound by the Decree for the (allegedly) Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry. It would be so easy to do a levitating charm on his trunk to get it downstairs, but it would also get him in a lot of trouble with the Ministry. And it was unlikely he'd be able to talk his way out of it this time – Scrimgeour was a lot of things, but he wasn't incompetent like Fudge had been.

Panting, he finally set his trunk down by the front door and pulled on a threadbare dark green army jacket that had belonged to his cousin Dudley years before. _Slytherin colours_, Harry thought, and couldn't help but smirk at the way Hogwarts had coloured his perceptions of the most innocent Muggle objects. Said cousin was – predictably enough – sprawled in front of the television, and his uncle was mostly hidden behind a newspaper. But Aunt Petunia, oddly, was hovering nervously in the doorway to the kitchen…Harry supposed she was worried about more wizards appearing in her well-kept home.

"Harry, come here," she said suddenly. He was inclined to tell her to get stuffed, and the only thing that stopped him was her tone of voice – it was no the peremptory command he was used to, but almost pleading. He hesitated, then cautiously followed her up the stairs. She led the way into her and Uncle Vernon's bedroom. Harry couldn't help but pause at the threshold – never once in all his years at Number Four Privet Drive had he been allowed to enter this room. When he was little it had held an aura of mystery, but as he had grown older he had come to realise that there was probably nothing particularly interesting in the room – it had been fascinating purely due to its forbidden status.

He was brought back to himself by Aunt Petunia kneeling by the bed and taking out a small wooden box from underneath it. It was made of some expensive-looking foreign wood and engraved with flowers on the lid and sides. She thrust it at him as if the touch of the wood pained her. He took it dubiously and slowly opened the lid.

"You might as well take it; it isn't as if I have any use for it…" she muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He set the box carefully down on the bed and began sorting through its contents.

There were two pressed flowers glued to a yellowing scrap of paper; the first a white lily and the second a petunia. Beneath the sheet lay locks of red and blonde hair woven into a braid. Two gold chains each bore half of a heart reading '_sisters forever'_…and finally, wrapped in a purple satin ribbon, old photographs – all of two girls, one red-haired and one blonde.

"I thought…her…she would have wanted you to have them…" Petunia managed, pale eyes brimming with tears. Harry stared at his aunt, speechless.

"What the…?" he said in bewilderment.

"I hated magic for taking my sister away from me…for making her so different I couldn't understand her…and eventually for killing her…" she began outright sobbing now, tears streaming down her pinched cheeks; "…If she had been normal she'd still be here, we would have still been together…"

The doorbell rang. Harry glanced awkwardly down the stairs. "I…think I should go," he said nervously. Petunia nodded, apparently unable to speak. And then suddenly she did something that Harry in all his years living with the Dursleys had never thought she would ever do. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Please be careful," she whispered fiercely and released the thoroughly confused boy as the doorbell rang again; "You…you're all I have left of Lily. Now go!"

"I…"

"Go! And for goodness' sake be careful!"

Harry hurried downstairs, vowing fervently that today had to be one of the strangest days of his life. Forget magic and insane evil wizards – all that was far easier to understand than Aunt Petunia suddenly being _nice_.

He opened the door and was confronted with a serious-looking woman in a suit. He stared blankly at her for an endless moment; he would swear that he'd never seen her before in his life. She winked at him; "Wotcher, Harry – mind if I come in?"

"Tonks!" he said in relieved understanding and stood aside to let her in. Uncle Vernon glared balefully at them over the top of his newspaper, and Harry could sense his confusion. Tonks was being friendly to Harry and was therefore automatically No Good. However, with her stern appearance and expensively-tailored business suit, she looked the very essence of respectability in the Dursleys' very narrow world. She gave him a cheery little wave and his expression darkened.

"Got everything, Harry?" she asked brightly and grinned when he nodded. A careless wave of her wand shrunk Harry's trunk to the size of a pillbox, and she put it in one of her pockets; "Where's your owl?"

"Uh…still with Ron, I think," he replied. Tonks nodded in satisfaction that everything was taken care of and turned to the Uncle Vernon.

"You no longer have legal guardianship of Harry," she informed him cheerily; "Any protection on this house will vanish in a few weeks time, so I recommend you go elsewhere unless you want dark wizards crawling all over you…say goodbye, eh Harry?"

"Bye," Harry said with a grin, enjoying Uncle Vernon's appalled expression. The thought of never returning to Privet Drive was an extremely happy one.

He followed Tonks outside with barely a backwards glance…although he felt an odd, unfamiliar pang when he noticed the light still on in the master bedroom. His grip tightened slightly on the wooden box he still held.

"Sorry about them…" he said to Tonks, waving a hand in the direction of Number Four.

"Don't worry about it," Tonks said dismissively; "Look at my nearest and dearest. Bellatrix Lestrange…Lucius Malfoy…"

He was slightly surprised that Tonks made no move to Apparate or do anything remotely magical…and he was even more surprised when she unlocked the dark blue car parked at the end of the street. "We're traveling incognito," she shrugged, catching his expression; "Keeping the magic to a minimum."

"Oh," he said and climbed into the passenger seat. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine started.

"Better try and get some kip," she advised, reversing out of the street; "It'll be morning before we get there."

"You can drive?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Course I can," she replied easily; "My dad was Muggle-born – he taught me." She scrunched her face up and her appearance slowly returned to normal; complete with bubblegum-pink hair. Harry fidgeted a little, unable to keep back top flood of questions begging to be asked.

"Why isn't the Order at Grimmauld Place any more?"  
"S'not safe, not now that slimy git Snape's changed sides on us," she scowled at the steering wheel; "And now…now we're short a Secret Keeper he can tell You-Know-Who everything."

"Where's the new headquarters?"

"Glasgow."

"…uh…yeah…" Harry's already shaky grasp of geography was failing him. Tonks glanced sideways at him, taking in his bemused expression.

"In Scotland," she elaborated; "Closer to Hogwarts. D'you know Oliver Wood at all?"

"Yeah, he was Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team when I joined."

"Really? Well, the new headquarters belonged to his family. There was an attack, most of the family wiped out…he's joined the Order." Harry nodded silently. He could easily imagine the manic energy Wood had once expended on Quidditch being redirected to fighting Death Eaters.

The stopped for supplies at a truck stop just outside Manchester around three in the morning. A stall was still optimistically selling key-rings advertising 'Scenic Knutsford'. Harry eyed the café longingly, wishing he'd thought to change some of his galleons into Muggle money, while Tonks drank more coffee than could possibly be healthy and ranted intermittently about the fact that most drivers were idiots. Even in the middle of the night, the traffic – particularly around London – had been appalling. When she had finished her spiel about the evils of the M25 London Orbital, she irritably shoved a twenty-pound note at the sullen waitress and led the way back to the car. By the time they had got back onto the motorway the caffeine high had kicked in, and she was back to her cheerful, slightly ditzy self.

"Instant coffee," she said happily; "Best things Muggles ever invented." Just watching her hyper chirpiness made Harry feel tired, and she seemed to notice; "Get some sleep – I'll wake you when we get there."

He was all too happy to follow her advice. The car rocked gently like a cradle, yellow streetlamps casting a sickly light which flashed briefly across them as the car streaked past. Lulled by the whispered roar of the engine, he fell asleep somewhere south of Penrith.

He dreamed of masked and robed figures laying an eerily silent siege to a Quidditch pitch. It was of course a highly disturbing dream…but Harry was so used to disturbing dreams that this particular one merited no special attention.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**We're never given any real description or background information on Oliver Wood in the books, so I'm going with movie canon – including the fact that he's obviously from central Scotland.**


	2. The Odeon

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Author's Notes: I'll admit it – I'm only writing this because I'm so damn sick of waiting for the real seventh book to come out. I'm impatient…so sue me.**

**Chapter 2 – The Odeon**

**_Wherein Breakfast is served, and Mindy the House-Elf believes Hermione to be Insane_**

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the merciless assault of sunlight, praying it would go away if he ignored it for long enough. As it seemed to flicker in his blurred vision he became aware of a sensation of motion. He groaned and raised an arm to shield his eyes.

"Morning, Harry." He cracked an eyelid open and saw Tonks grinning at him. She looked utterly exhausted – her hair had reverted to a mousy brown and there were shadows under her eyes – but she also looked inexplicably cheerful.

"Where are we?" he asked, sitting up and looking around. They were coming up on the outskirts of a large city, and he hadn't even the vaguest idea where they were; "And what time is it?"

"We're almost there," Tonks said, waving a vague arm at the city ahead; "And it…bloody hell, it's seven in the morning. I'm never driving from Surrey to Glasgow again. _Never_."

As they drove along a bridge over a broad river, Harry sat up in his seat to get a better look at the city the Order had made its new home. The architecture was an odd combination of beautiful old sandstone buildings and soaring glass and steel towers: but rather than clashing, the two styles complimented each other. There were a surprising number of trees for the centre of a city, and a lot of the paved streets seemed to be pedestrianised. Tonks navigated the bewildering system of one-way streets with a little difficulty and parked the car in a multi-story car park off a narrow, cobbled street.

"Come on," she said; "We're better off walking from here."

The city was even more fascinating on foot. Cafés and bars were just opening, setting out tables in the brilliantly sunlit streets to feed bleary-eyed businessmen on their way to work. The old sandstone buildings seemed dominant in this part of the city, and even at this early hour the streets were bustling with people. Harry found himself almost as fascinated as the first time he'd visited Diagon Alley as Tonks pointed out cafés she liked, nightclubs she'd visited, and some of the more interesting shops. She even gave a brief description of the route and entrance to the magical district – Sinick Alley – a restaurant and hotel called the Silver Dragon by the riverfront.

She led the way to the alley behind a boarded-up cinema and – with a furtive glance around – prodded the locked door with her wand. It swung open, and she gestured for Harry to get inside before anyone saw them.

Harry's first thought upon entering the building was how much nicer it was than Grimmauld Place – beams of sunlight streamed in through tall stained-glass windows which had appeared to be nothing more than grubby brick from the outside. The entrance hall was a large room three floors tall with walls of dark wood. There were arches all around leading to other rooms, and a grand sweeping flight of stairs which led up to a gallery around the floor above, and another flight of stairs to the gallery on the top floor. The floor was of the same dark wood, partially covered by a deep red carpet.

"_Harry_!" He looked up at the sound of someone delightedly shrieking his name and saw Hermione standing up on the gallery. She ran down the stairs, taking the steps three at a time, and threw her arms around him.

"Oh good, Hermione can show you around," Tonks said brightly, turning to walk away and walking face-first into a closed door; "Oh bugger this, I'm going to bed…" she muttered, rubbing her forehead, and slouched up the stairs. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances and hastily smothered their laughter.

"So, do you want to go to bed too, or should I show you around?" Hermione asked.

"I slept in the car on the way up here, so I'm not tired. Where is everyone?"

She gave him a strange look; "It's half past seven in the morning, Harry. Everyone's still in bed."

"Oh…oh yeah."

He let her guide him through all the different rooms as they chatted happily about nothing in particular. She had saved the kitchen for last – and with good reason as it turned out, because Mrs. Weasley was in there making breakfast for everyone. As soon as she saw Harry, she abandoned the frying pan she was wielding to hug him tightly.

"Oh, you look so dreadfully _thin_ dear, come over here and have something to eat while I fix breakfast. How have your holidays been?"

"Uh…fine," Harry said, gratefully picking up a piece of toast.

"I'll go tell everyone you've arrived," Hermione said, heading for the door.

"Tell Ron and Ginny to come down here and help me get breakfast ready!" Mrs. Weasley called after her. Hermione nodded and disappeared through the door. "Open that other door, will you dear?" Mrs. Weasley added, glancing over at Harry. He did so, and several platters of food soared through to settle on a large oak table – presumably that was the dining room. It could probably have seated forty people if pressed.

Hermione came back into the kitchen followed by a bleary-eyed Ginny, and Ron, who had his t-shirt on backwards. The siblings brightened up immeasurably when they saw Harry. Ginny hugged him tightly with a squeal. She looked at him for a moment as she pulled away, and then gave a regretful sigh and kissed him on the cheek.

"Alright there, mate?" Ron said with an awkward grin to fill the uncomfortable silence; "Nice place this, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Definitely better than Grimmauld Place."

Mrs. Weasley began ordering them around, leaving little time for talking. Plates and cutlery were laid out on the table with military precision, and platters of food continued to fly through and land neatly on the dark wood. It was after eight o'clock when she sent them upstairs to wake everyone else up.

"It's pretty nice here," Ron said on the way up the stairs.

"But there are downsides," Hermione added; "Like…oh dear, here she comes."

"Who?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Faith," Ginny said quietly, pointing.

Faith, as it turned out, was a ghost; the ghost of a little girl in a billowing white nightgown. She drifted serenely along the hallway and came to a halt in front of the four teenagers.

"Good morning," she smiled. Harry stared.

"Good morning, Faith," Hermione said with a slightly forced smile; "This is-"

"Harry Potter," Faith cut her off; "Aye, I know. Nice to meet you, Harry. I'd shake your hand, but…you know."

"Uh…yeah. Nice to meet you too." He looked at the little girl, wondering how she had died so young…

"Tuberculosis," she supplied; "I was eight."

He stared at her in amazement; "You can…?"

"…read minds? As a matter of fact I can. It's always been more of a curse than a gift, really." She considered the group; "You're hungry – go downstairs. I'll wake everyone else up." Her manner of speaking seemed a little odd, and it took him a moment to realise that the sentence was neither a question nor a command, but simply a statement of fact.

They filed back into the kitchen along with the first of the semiconscious residents. The few who were awake enough to register his presence greeted Harry warmly, and the rest followed suit once they had revived a little. Sitting around the ancient oak table were the entire Weasley family – minus the twins, Bill and, of course, Percy – Tonks, Lupin, Oliver Wood, and miscellaneous other Order members, the majority of whose names escaped Harry at that particular moment.

"…lovely place, this," Hestia Jones was saying, waving half a sausage around as if to illustrate her point; "Very kind of you to let us use it, Wood."

Oliver Wood – who Harry had been watching surreptitiously for some time – jumped slightly at being addressed unexpectedly before inclining his head in acknowledgement. He looked pale and tired, and the shadows under his eyes suggested that he had not been getting a lot of sleep. He turned back to his toast as the conversation ebbed around him, tempered by the earliness of the hour. He glanced up at Harry, and – to the younger boy's surprise – winked.

Harry, sitting between Ron and Hermione, had noticed a very significant absence from the table; "Where's Fleur?" Ron made incoherent noises around a mouthful of bacon.

"She's gone back to France to get her family for the wedding," Hermione translated.

"When is it?"

"Next Sunday. I think they're arriving next Friday."

"Mum's been going mental over the planning," Ron added, managing some semblance of coherence now his mouth was no longer overflowing with food. He cast a longing look at the last fried egg, which Ginny promptly snagged. Watching the Weasley children eat was an education for Harry and Hermione, neither of whom had any siblings – the aim appeared to be to eat as much as possible in as little time as possible. Harry supposed that in a family with seven children you learned quickly to get the best food before someone else did.

When breakfast was over, Harry, Ron and Hermione slipped off as quickly as possible before they were made to help clean up. They went upstairs and leaned against the railing of the gallery, watching the various Order members leaving to do whatever it was they did or sneaking upstairs to catch another hour's sleep. After this got boring they made their way to the room Harry and Ron would be sharing. It was a pleasant, cozy room, and it reminded Harry a little of the dormitories at Hogwarts.

"Are you tired?" Hermione asked.

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, and was slightly surprised to find that this was true; "I slept in the car on the way up. I'm not tired."

"Lucky you," Ron mumbled, yawning; "Mindy decided to come in and dust at five in the morning for some reason. I think she's annoyed 'cause Mum won't let her cook."

"Mindy?" Harry asked. Although from the look on Hermione's face he thought he could guess.

"She's a house-elf," Hermione said with a scowl, confirming Harry's suspicions; "Cleaning constantly, poor Mindy!"

"Is young mistress calling Mindy?" an anxious voice enquired from the doorway.

Harry turned; hovering nervously by the door was the tiniest house-elf he had ever seen. In the department of strange dress sense she could have rivaled Dobby – she wore what looked like a multicoloured curtain wrapped around her in a style reminiscent of a sari.

"No-one called you, Mindy," Hermione said kindly while Harry and Ron exchanged long-suffering looks behind her back; "You don't have to wait on us all the time."

The tiny house-elf was looking at Hermione as if seriously doubting her sanity; "Mindy enjoys serving her masters, young mistress," she said timidly but firmly…and disappeared before Hermione could continue being aggressively nice. The young witch looked slightly offended.

"So, what's the rest of this place like then?" Harry asked, hoping to divert a house-elf related rant. He seemed to have struck lucky, because Hermione's face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, we have to show you the roof!" she beamed; "There's a beautiful rooftop garden – under a glamour of course so the Muggles don't see it – and apparently-"

Harry smiled faintly and let Hermione's voice wash over him as Ron's head drooped and he began to snore gently. He was warm and well fed and with his friends… For the first time that summer, he felt like he was home.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Reviews make me happy, and I update faster when I'm happy.**


	3. Flowers

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Author's Note: ****Uh, yes…finally an update. And just to warn you, updates will not be frequent. I'm taking my big, important, determine-whether-or-not-I-can-go-to-university exams in…five months and counting. Ergo: a massive mountain of homework is being dumped on me by all teachers. As such I will only be updating this (And the other six or so fics I'm working on) in between my attempts at the Sisyphean task of doing all this work. All the time with those bloody exams hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles (Yes, I'm in a Greek Mythology mood) Anyway, please don't harass me for updates. I need straight A's and sadly my fics must suffer for me to get them…until June anyway. Then come the summer holidays when I can write 24/7 ::wink:: I promise I'll make it up to you then**

**Chapter 3 – Flowers**

_**Wherein Harry and Ron discover why Women dislike Female Veela, and Ginny and Hermione are Smitten**_

The days passed quickly in such pleasant company. Before long it was morning of the next Friday, and Mrs. Weasley was compulsively cleaning the entire house yet again. Harry and Ron were awoken at some ungodly hour by their curtains being ripped open, blinding sunlight flooding the bedroom. Ron gave a moan of protest and buried his head under his pillow while Harry propped himself up on one elbow and raised an arm to shield his eyes.

"'Sgoin'on?" he asked sleepily; "Time's it?"

"It's eight o'clock," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, dusting the spotless and gleaming windowsill vigorously; "They'll be here soon, get washed and dressed quickly!"

She left again, carrying their dirty laundry from the previous day under her arms. Ron pulled the covers over his head again, but Harry somehow managed to convince his limbs that they wanted to function. "First in the shower," he said and stumbled into their bathroom.

In the week or so he had been at Headquarters, Harry had already mostly unpacked his things; all his clothes were with Ron's in the large wardrobe, assorted posters and photographs were tacked to the walls, and their possessions and books were scattered about the place. After all, since he had left the Dursleys and wasn't going back to Hogwarts, he would be living there indefinitely. The room already felt more like home than his room – or cupboard – at Privet Drive ever had. His birthday party the previous week had certainly been an extremely enjoyable affair, and he enjoyed being able to use magic legally out of school now.

He came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and feeling substantially more awake, as Ron finally levered himself out of bed. Harry rummaged in the wardrobe for clothes as Ron slammed the bathroom door. It was already getting a bit difficult to tell which clothes were his and which were Ron's.

He pulled on a worn pair of jeans with tattered ends and rips in the knees. He hesitated with one hand hovering over a pile of t-shirts – he would want to look at least semi-presentable if Fleur's family were arriving today…eventually he picked out a navy-blue shirt, worn with use but extremely comfortable. Feeling ready to face the world, he ran his hands through his hair and went downstairs.

"Where's Ron?" Mrs. Weasley asked him as he entered the kitchen.

"Still in the shower," Harry replied, picking up an apple from the fruit basket on the counter.

"He'd better hurry up, they'll be here soon," she fretted; "If you want to see Hermione, I think she's in the library."

Harry headed for the library, which was on the ground floor at the rear of the house. Hermione wasn't in the main room, but Harry thought he heard movement in the small private study room just off it. As it happened, he walked straight into Hermione as they both tried to go though the door at the same time; "Sorry, Hermione!"

"It's okay," she said, dusting herself down, "I'm fine." She was wearing black trousers of some canvas-like material and a loose white shirt that was far too big for her. Her bushy brown hair was pinned up loosely, stray tendrils escaping to fall down on either side of her face.

"You look nice," Harry said without thinking; "But whose shirt is that?"

"Well I got it out of Ginny's trunk," Hermione replied, looking down at herself; "But I think it used to be Charlie's. Do you really think I look nice?"

"Of course you do," Harry said honestly. Hermione blushed, but looked pleased.

At this point the doorbell rang loudly, and the previously quiet house erupted in activity. Harry and Hermione made it to the library door in time to see the front door being opened by a very flustered-looking Mrs. Weasley. Seven figures entered as Ron sloped down the stairs, yawning hugely.

Bill and Fleur entered first, she wearing a pale blue summer dress and he his usual leather and dragon hide ensemble. The next two were obviously Fleur's parents, and the rest – a boy and two girls – were presumably her siblings.

"'Arry, 'Ermione!" Fleur said happily, having spotted them; "Come over 'ere and meet my family."

She introduced her parents first. It was obvious that the Veela blood in the family came from her mother's side – even though she had to be almost forty, she was still stunningly beautiful…even more so than Fleur. Her father was an imposing-looking man with greying hair and dark eyes which none of his children had inherited.

"…and zese are my seesters, Gabrielle and Veronique. Gabrielle eez eleven and Veronique eez seexteen." Both sisters looked a great deal like Fleur, with the same silver-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. They seemed to have a little more of their father in them, though, whereas Fleur was the image of her mother. "'Ello 'Arry!" Gabrielle said brightly, blushing a little. Evidently she still remembered the Second Task.

"And zis eez my bruzzer, Marc," Fleur concluded, gesturing towards the last family member. He was perhaps eighteen, and was Fleur in male form. He, like his older sister, had clearly received a greater share of the Veela blood.

Fleur turned back to her family; "_Voici est 'Arry at 'Ermione. Ils est les amis de Ron, Bill's petit frere_. _Et ici allé Ron._"

The family politely greeted each of them. When Hermione's turn came, Marc kissed her fingertips and said with a charming smile; "Eet eez a pleasure to meet you, _mademoiselle_." Hermione gave a very uncharacteristic giggle and blush. Harry saw Ron's ears turn red, and began to understand why Hermione and Ginny had disliked Fleur so much – those with Veela blood had a way of taking all of the opposite sex's attention.

The Delacour family began to settle in over the rest of the day, and the sheer concentration of Veela charm in the house was starting to seriously interfere with everyone else's minds. This time the girls could not roll their eyes at the boys' stupid behaviour – all of them, even Mrs. Weasley and the older women in the Order, tended to blush and drop whatever they were holding when Marc Delacour entered the room. The boy seemed a little bemused by this reaction, but by dinner time was clearly quite annoyed by the way all the males present kept staring at his mother and sisters.

By this time, however, everyone was starting to get used to their presence, and dinner was a lively affair. Ginny and Veronique, who were the same age, seemed to have hit it off instantly. Gabrielle had gotten over her initial shyness but was remaining mostly silent. Fleur's mother and Mrs. Weasley were talking very animatedly about the wedding plans with identical bright smiles on their faces – both were clearly enchanted by the prospect of marrying off their eldest child.

Hermione stayed up late reading in the library, but Harry and Ron decided to have an early night. They were grateful for it the next morning, because by then the wedding was the next day and the house was in uproar. It was to be held in the rooftop garden, and the mothers of both the concerned parties were excited to the point of incoherence. Every female in the house seemed to be similarly affected. The boys had decided to spend as much time as possible hiding.

Currently Harry and Ron were lurking in the library's private study room with Bill, Charlie, Oliver, and Marc. The room was otherwise unoccupied, given that even Hermione had contracted the wedding-fever. Marc was sitting cross-legged on a table reading '_The Red Book of Pyromancy_', and Oliver and Charlie – who had apparently been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team together for two years – were, unsurprisingly, discussing Quidditch. Harry and Ron were making a valiant attempt to distract Bill from the ordeal he would be facing the next day.

"…Ireland won't make the next World Cup final," Oliver said, shaking his head; "Not with Moran out of commission. They're a good set of chasers, but the other two don't work half as well with the first reserve. Bloody bad luck, her getting injured like that."

"Yeah, I suppose so," Charlie conceded; "Wales have got no chance if the way they played against New Zealand is any indication. But England are doing better than last year, and Scotland have put together a pretty strong side…"

"Mum says the twins should be arriving soon," Ron told Bill and Harry; "You should see some of the stuff they've been working on, they could make a fortune if they get it to work."

"Like what?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, they're trying to adapt Muggle eclectic…sorry, _electric_ things to work in a magical atmosphere like Hogwarts or the Ministry. The only thing is that they can't enchant the actual objects because of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts laws…"

"I can't believe they only got three OWLs each," Bill commented; "No-one's ever been able to do something like that before."

"Yeah," Ron agreed; "And then they're working on something else, very top-secret, they say they're not showing anyone till it's finished."

"Wow," Harry said, impressed.

The twins must have felt a little superfluous when they arrived around two o'clock, because the house had already been overtaken by the kind of chaos that usually only they could cause. It didn't take the nineteen-year-old entrepreneurs long to join the other refugees in the study room.

"We're impressed, big brother," Fred said, throwing a sly grin at Bill.

"Yes," George agreed with an identical expression of evil glee; "While hiding in here doing nothing you've managed to cause the sort of uproar it takes our best efforts to achieve."

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Bill said flatly. Fred and George beamed at him.

"So what's the plan?" Fred asked brightly.

"For what?" Ron said.

"For the wedding, you prat," George said impatiently; "Best man? Bridesmaids? Stag night?"

"Charlie's best man," Bill said, waving a hand towards the eldest of his five brothers; "Ginny, and Fleur's sister Veronique are the bridesmaids, and Gabrielle's the flower girl."

"And the stag night?" the twins chorused. It was plain that this was the part which interested them.

"Tonight," Oliver supplied; "There's some pretty good pubs and clubs around here – I'll take you to a few of my favourites."

"Excellent," Fred and George grinned. They were promptly absorbed into the Quidditch discussion, and Harry and Ron returned to consoling Bill.

When all wedding-related activity had been moved to the rooftop garden, they deemed it safe to emerge. They were lounging in front of the fire in the sitting room when the doorbell rang, and Charlie opened it to admit a rather disgruntled Professor McGonagall.

"You're still in robes," he observed.

"I Apparated right in front of the door," she replied a little irritably, as if she hadn't the time to be dealing with such questions.

"Come in and have seat," Bill called to her; "You look exhausted. How's the Headmistress thing going?"

"…tryingly," she said succinctly, sinking into an armchair; "I still need new teachers for Defense and Transfiguration. I love Hogwarts dearly, but the place is an organisational nightmare…and that's _without_ any students." She paused, as if remembering something; "Do you know where Nymphadora is?"

It took the rest of them a moment to realise she was talking about Tonks. "Still in bed?" Oliver volunteered. McGonagall rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded rather like _typical_. In a flash she was gone, sweeping up the stairs in a flurry of robes.

"What d'you suppose that was about?" Ron asked curiously.

"Never mind that," Fred said impatiently; "We have important matters to discuss."

"Yes," George said with a wicked grin; "The stag night."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

"**_Voici est 'Arry et 'Ermione. Ils est les amis de Ron, Bill's petit frere. Et ici allé Ron"_ – Here are Harry and Hermione. They are friends of Ron, Bill's little brother. And here comes Ron. (More or less…I'm to lazy to go find my French dictionary)**


	4. The Stag Night

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Chapter 4 – The Stag Night**

**_Wherein Harry and Ron get extremely Drunk, and Fred is found in a Compromising position_**

As it got dark on the Saturday night, every male Order member between the ages of seventeen and seventy who was present was getting ready to go. Oliver had insisted they wear Muggle clothing so they could visit Muggle pubs as well. Harry and Ron had decided on a simple jeans and t-shirt combination, given the chances of someone throwing up and/or spilling drinks on them.

"See you tomorrow morning," Mrs. Weasley said with a hint of a disapproving frown as they filed out of the door.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Fred corrected her with a grin, "If tonight's any good, you'd need an unsticking charm to get us out of bed before twelve tomorrow." He fled before she had the chance to scold him.

"Where we going first?" Ron asked brightly, and Harry grinned at his best friend's expression. The two of them were enjoying being legally adults.

"The Drum and Monkey," Oliver said; "It's a Muggle pub…" he trailed off, eyeing Harry and Ron critically; "If anyone asks, you two are eighteen, okay?"

Ron began to ask why, but Harry cut him off; "Okay."

It was a Saturday night, and the Drum and Monkey was packed to the rafters with people in varying states of drunkenness. Oliver led the way to a table at the back and they sat around it, looking around the crowded pub with interest. "I'll get the drinks," Lupin said and disappeared into the crowd.

Ron turned to Harry; "Why do we have to say we're eighteen?"

"Because you have to be eighteen to drink in Muggle pubs," Harry explained quietly, careful that no-one overheard.

"Everyone act normal," Charlie reminded them; "We'll go to Sinick Alley when we start getting really drunk so we don't have to worry about being discreet."

"Good idea," Fred and George approved as Lupin came back with the drinks.

"Next round's mine," said Bill.

Three glasses later, Harry still wasn't sure what the mysterious blue liquid he was drinking was supposed to be, but he had decided that he rather liked it anyway. The more experienced drinkers among them were tossing it back like water. Harry drank his rather more slowly. He bought the fourth round, silently thanking any gods who happened to be listening that he'd finally gotten round to changing some of his galleons to Muggle money. They – particularly Harry and Ron, who weren't used to it – were starting to get pleasantly tipsy when Oliver suggested they move on to a nightclub called the Cathouse. They had managed to get in near the front of the queue just as the doors opened, and as he stepped inside Harry found his ears assaulted by the loudest music he had ever heard in his life. It was the sort of Goth/Punk music his aunt and uncle had always violently objected to, and this had predisposed him to like it, even when Mrs.-Next-Door's daughter had been playing it at three in the morning. Ron was looking a little bewildered – and more than a little drunk – but Fred and George in particular seemed highly impressed. And the drink just kept on coming.

Everyone in the club, even the scary-looking ones with multiple piercings and leather clothing, was surprisingly friendly, and Harry ended up dancing with three random people he had never seen before in his life, plus Charlie and Marc. They didn't leave until the club closed at two in the morning.

"I hear the girls are having a Hen night," commented a surprisingly sober-looking George as they made their way to the Silver Dragon. Bill had recommended a pub called the Dungeon in Sinick Alley as their next stop.

"May…m'be w'll meet'm…" slurred Ron, who was the main reason they had decided it was no longer safe to be among Muggles.

"Aw…" Fred cooed; "Ickle Ronnikins can't take his drink…"

"Lucky we started 'im out on Muggle stuff," smirked Charlie, despite looking none too sober himself; "He'd be comatose by now if we'd let 'im have Firewhiskey."

The Silver Dragon was larger and rather rowdier than the Leaky Cauldron. At the back was a long stone corridor ending in a large courtyard. The courtyard itself was dominated by a large archway leading to Sinick Alley, but it was also lined with fireplaces, all crackling merrily with green flames. Occasionally someone would appear from a fire on the left, or disappear into a fire on the right.

Oliver and Bill – leaning against each other for support, Harry noted – led the way to the Dungeon.

It was Saturday night, or technically Sunday morning, rather, and the patrons of the Dungeon were still partying like there was no tomorrow. Harry was a little surprised at such unrestrained life after the events of his last term at Hogwarts. _But then again_, the tiny part of his mind which had thus far evaded the dousing in alcohol reasoned; _maybe it isn't so surprising. Can you blame them for wanting to have fun while they still can…?_

Harry looked around for familiar faces. Fred, George, and for some reason Marc, were sitting at a table in the corner, laughing uproariously. Not wanting to intrude, he made his way instead to the bar, where Oliver was standing talking animatedly to a short, brightly-dressed girl Harry vaguely recognised.

"Hey, Harry," Oliver said; "This is Alix – she was in my year at school. Alix, this is Harry."

"Harry Potter?" Alix said, trying and very nearly succeeding to hide the excitement in her eyes; "Ooo, it's _so_ nice to see you! I don't think we ever talked in school."

"Uh…hi," Harry hazarded. Alix's outfit would have put a rainbow to shame, but he had to admit it suited her tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her brown hair brushed her shoulders, and her glasses were on the point of falling off. She was talking a mile a minute, but she didn't seem drunk, just happy and hyper. She brightened up even more – Harry was amazed to find this was possible – when George came over.

"Hi!" she said delightedly; "Uh…George?"

"Right first guess, have a cookie."

"I'm not taking anything from you, Merlin knows what it'd turn me into," she retorted.

George ordered another round of drinks and looked slyly sideways at Harry, who was staring at Alix. He leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear; "I wouldn't waste my time, mate. Alix's fancied Oliver for as long as I've known her."

"I wasn't-!" Harry objected, but gave up when George just grinned; "Ever had Firewhiskey before?" George asked innocently, handing him a glass. Harry took the glass and eyed the contents dubiously. He had to admit that the liquid was a very inviting shade of amber. He raised the glass to his lips…

Harry didn't remember much more after that.

**XxXxXxX**

Harry buried his head in his hands and weakly cursed the world in general. He felt like someone had used a Permanent Sticking Charm to attach his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and apparently a swarm of Cornish Pixies had crawled into his skull through his ears and were using his brain as a trampoline. Someone groaned, and Harry managed to crack open an eyelid.

It took him a moment to realise that he wasn't in his and Ron's room. After some thought he finally decided that he was probably in one of the guest rooms…possibly the one Fred and George were sharing? Yes, that was their new owl Mercury in a cage on the windowsill. He sat up and immediately regretted it – he just made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.

Once he had emptied the contents of his stomach he felt a bit better. He took a drink from the tap and spat into the sink to clear the foul taste from his mouth. Head still pounding, he soaked a hand-towel in cold water and slapped it across his forehead…ah, blessed relief. Harry about managed to make his way back through to the bedroom and sat down heavily on Fred's trunk. Ron was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, and Charlie was asleep in a corner with his head on George's shoulder. Bill was lying, still fully clothed, on one of the beds; the second bed was occupied although Harry couldn't see who by.

Since everyone else was still comatose, Harry decided to take advantage of this fact and have a quick shower. He was just pulling his jeans back on when he heard a startled cry and a burst of laughter from the bedroom.

Ron and Bill had apparently been woken up by the noise, and were both blinking in sleepy bewilderment. The cry of surprise seemed to have come from Charlie, and George was almost paralysed with helpless laughter. The source of the disturbance was immediately obvious; the second bed had contained Fred, who was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and Marc, who was swearing under his breath in French with his head in his hands.

"Something you've been meaning to tell us, brother dearest?" George enquired merrily.

"Go to hell," Fred snapped, throwing his shirt (which had been draped across the bedpost) at his twin. George just kept laughing.

"You…" said Ron, who looked frankly nauseated; "…you didn't…"

"Of course we bloody didn't!"

"No, you just happen to have woken up in bed together with your clothes strewn around the room," George smirked.

"Fuck off!"

"Well," said Bill, looking faintly amused; "Mum'll be delighted to have a new subject to have kittens over…"

"_I don't care if it's your wedding day; I will hex you to within an inch of your life if you breathe a word of this to Mum_!"

More laughter.

"Oh, fuck all of you," he muttered and stormed out of the room – showing that he was at least still wearing his jeans. Marc followed shortly afterward, blushing furiously and looking as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth. There was a brief silence. Eventually Charlie whistled; "Some party, eh?"

"There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," Bill offered weakly. They all shot him sceptical, '_yeah right_' looks.

"'Now, just because someone sees, you know, two naked people in bed together, it doesn't necessarily prove sex was involved. It does, however, make for a very strong case'," George said. It sounded like a quote.

"Hey, where's Oliver?" Harry asked, noticing his absence…admittedly more to change the subject than anything else.

"He went home with that Alix girl," George said with a sly smile; "Seems dear Freddie wasn't the only one who got lucky last night…"

"Urgh, stop being a perv," Ron said, looking rather ill. Bill rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at his youngest brother. Harry couldn't help but grin – the wedding looked set to be _very_ interesting. He walked to the door and winced as the movement made his headache return with a vengeance. Food first, he decided, and made his way to the kitchen.

Hermione was sitting on the counter, and she grinned as she saw Harry. She hopped down from her perch and walked over to a bubbling cauldron. The liquid inside was murky and strange-smelling – Harry eyed it with suspicion when she handed him a glass; "What is it?"

"Hangover Potion," she told him; "It'll make you feel better." He gaped at her in profound thanks for a moment and downed the contents in one gulp. He regretted it instantly.

"Argh! That tastes worse than the Polyjuice Potion!"

"Trust me, it works."

As a matter of fact it did, and soon he felt perfectly fine. Getting drunk had been enjoyable – if only someone had thought to warn him in advance about hangovers. He grinned at Hermione and thanked her profusely for the potion; now, finally, he felt ready to face the wedding.

**You review, I update. It's not a complicated arrangement…**

**The phrase George quotes is from Velvet Goldmine**


	5. The Wedding

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Dedicated to the beloved and thoroughly cameo-ed Alix; my most faithful reader and reviewer. Love ya, honey.**

**Chapter 5 – The Wedding**

_**Wherein Molly is Tearful, and Bill and Fleur are finally, irrevocably, Married**_

There is nothing quite as superfluous as a man before a wedding. The boys, having partaken heavily of Hermione's disgusting-but-useful Hangover Potion, had changed into their dress robes and were hanging around uselessly in the library once more.

"Guess what I just heard!" Ginny said brightly, walking into the room. Harry shut his mouth – it had fallen open when he caught sight of her. She was wearing an elegantly cut dress in pale gold. Waves of copper hair spilled from an elegant pile atop her head and there was a hint of makeup around her eyes. She looked absolutely stunning.

"Fleur's finally come to her senses and done a runner?" George volunteered. Bill glared at him, but he just laughed.

"No…" Ginny said in a long-suffering tone; "Are you done?"

George seemed to consider this; "I suppose so," he conceded eventually.

"Good," she smiled; "I hear that McGonagall's asked Tonks to be the new Defense professor!"

This statement met with a perplexed silence, and Harry knew that everyone else was doing the same thing as him: comparing a mental picture of Tonks with a mental picture of a professor. He couldn't speak for the others, but he personally couldn't get the two images to meet anywhere.

"Seriously?" Charlie said after a while.

"Yes!" Ginny looked around at them with obvious frustration; "Oh, I give up!" She turned and walked out, muttering to herself about the insensitivity and mental inadequacy of males in general.

"Still not seeing it," George said, shaking his head.

"Remember Professor Stormhaven?" Bill asked Charlie with a reminiscent smile.

"Merlin yes – what a battleaxe," he noted the blank looks on the younger faces present; "The Defense Professor when we were at school – ex-Auror, complete nutcase. Sort of like a female version of Moody."

"Scary," said Ron. Harry – who had just acquired an extremely disturbing mental image of Mad-eye Moody in drag – could only shudder in agreement.

Before long the house was in complete uproar: Fleur's mother had burst into tears upon seeing her daughter in her wedding dress and had to be taken away by her husband for a calming cup of tea (with a generous shot of Firewhiskey).The kitchen was strictly off limits – Mindy was in a state of near-hysterical happiness over the sheer amount of cooking that had to be done. Unusually, neither Hermione nor Mrs. Weasley had objected. Hermione was in a very strange, uncharacteristic mood which could only be described as…well, _girly_. And Mrs. Weasley was trying to do everything at once, in between intermittently sobbing over the fact that her 'little boy was all grown up and getting married'. After that tearful proclamation, Fred and George in particular were laughing so hard they had been incapable of coherent speech for quite some time.

But finally – at long, long last, after much chaos and arguing – it was time for the wedding.

Everyone without an essential part to play in the wedding was shepherded to the rooftop garden. There were no chairs: all the guests stood in a loose circle two rows deep around a raised dais. Harry was standing between Oliver – who had turned up at about three in the afternoon looking very tired and very, very smug – and Ron.

The roar of traffic and thousands of people passing by was muted by the shields around the garden, and what little managed to get through was drowned out by the twittering of birds and the murmured conversation of the gathered family and friends. The garden was green and pleasant, with trees casting dappled shadows on the ground and the rich scent of flowers drifting on the breeze.

"So, what's going to happen now?" Harry asked, looking around curiously.

"Oh yeah, you've never been to a wizard wedding before," Ron said; "See, usually they get a respected elder witch or wizard – s'usually a witch, not sure why – to do the actual bonding, but what happens is-"

"Hey, don't spoil the surprise," Oliver said; "Don't worry, Harry, it's not as long or as boring as a Muggle wedding."

There was a lull in the conversation amongst the expectant crowd, and everyone turned to look expectantly at the sole gap in the circle. Professor McGonagall entered with an uncharacteristically misty smile on her lips and walked purposefully towards the dais. Following behind her were Charlie – who was grinning his head off – and Bill, who looked like he wasn't sure whether to rejoice or run away. The three took up their respective positions on the dais.

"Friends and family," McGonagall began; "We are here to witness the bonding ceremony of William Weasley and Fleur Delacour. In the midst of such darkness as we have been forced to deal with in recent times, we should be grateful for the reminder that love can flourish under the most adverse of circumstances." This statement met with murmurs of approval from around the circle. Once again silence followed, and every head turned as the bridal procession entered.

Gabrielle was in the lead, scattering a vivid rain of brightly coloured flower petals along the path. She was barefoot, her tiny feet leaving faint impressions on the grass as she walked. Fleur walked a few paces behind her youngest sister, a vision of radiant happiness in pale gold as her blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight. She wore no jewellery; save for the diamond tiara Molly had given her as a peace offering. Ginny and Veronique flanked her. Despite having been less than thrilled at the prospect of acquiring a sister-in-law, the youngest Weasley was as caught up in the excitement and happiness of the day as anyone else.

Finally, the bride and groom stood together, surrounded by their family and friends. Although he had been told that a wizard wedding was shorter than the Muggle variety, Harry was still surprised by just how short and simple the ceremony itself was.

"You shall walk together always, and death itself will not part you. Do you consent to be married, to be bound together for the rest of eternity?"

"I do."

"I do."

The soon-to-be-married couple clasped their left hands together as McGonagall drew her wand and aimed it at their joined hands. The words of three distinct yet complimentary, and overall extremely complicated-sounding incantations seemed to fill the garden as a ribbon of golden light snaked from the end of the wand and twined around their hands.

The golden light shone brighter and brighter and then, abruptly, disappeared. Blinking away the brilliant afterimages, the audience leaned in breathlessly for a closer look: the light had condensed into two golden wedding rings sitting comfortably on the fingers of their respective owners. The air of ceremony evaporated instantly as the guests burst into spontaneous cheering and everyone crowded round to congratulate the new Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"I didn't realise it was going to be _that_ short," Harry said as they all made their way downstairs for food, music, and – hopefully – alcohol.

"Why, how long are Muggle weddings?" asked a mystified Ron.

"Long enough that most of the guests are asleep before the halfway point," Hermione said wryly; "I remember my aunt's wedding; I don't think I've ever sat through anything more boring."

"And coming from someone who could stay awake through History of Magic that means a _lot_," Harry grinned.

When they arrived in the dining room, there was indeed food – assorted buffet trays covering the long table, which had been pushed up against a wall – and atmospheric music which didn't seem to be coming from anywhere in particular. Harry had yet to spot the alcohol, but he was optimistic about its presence nonetheless. He piled a plate high with sausage rolls and assorted other nibbles, while Ron seemed increasingly disappointed about the meager carrying capacity of his own plate and Hermione debated with herself about whether or not her evening should feature mysterious little pastries with a vaguely chicken-tasting filling. Harry was contemplating these same pastries when Charlie wandered over and promptly stole a sausage roll off of his plate.

"Having a good time?" he asked good-naturedly, looking for all the world like he had not just blatantly kidnapped Harry's last sausage roll.

"Yeah," Harry replied; "You don't look like you are, though."

"Well, it just occurred to me," he said; "All these years I've been safe because Mum's been badgering Bill for grandkids. Now she's married him off, I'm going to be getting it."

"Sounds like fun."

"I think I'd rather stick with dragons."

After a while the music because louder and more upbeat, as if someone was telling them that they'd eaten quite enough now and it was time to get down to business. The newly married couple led the first dance; he looking rather relieved, she aglow with happiness. Others joined in, and soon only a few diehard wallflowers remained off the dancefloor. Harry found a convenient corner and lurked determinedly, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might ask him to dance. He grinned as he caught sight of Hermione badgering Ron to dance with her. It was rather amusing from a distance, and he was devoutly grateful that it wasn't him. Not that he particularly objected to dancing; after all, the Yule Ball hadn't been _too_ bad. But the wedding atmosphere had left everyone feeling a bit…couple-y. He'd spent the better part of the evening studiously avoiding Ginny – who, he noted, was currently dancing with George at the far end of the room and giggling uncontrollably at a comment her brother had just made – for fear of awkwardness. He'd just stick with his corner.

Or at least that was the plan. The plan altered somewhat when Hermione came over, muttering to herself irritably. "Honestly, you'd think I was asking him to walk down the street naked. Harry, will _you_ dance with me?" This last part was accompanied by huge, pleading eyes, and somehow Harry found himself quite unable to refuse.

The dance itself wasn't unpleasant, but he got a little uncomfortable when Hermione's muttered rant took a rather personal turn; heading into territory he would rather have avoided. Particularly the bits about a certain 'stupid, stubborn, oblivious' boy who couldn't 'see what's right in front of him', and that she was going to 'give up and move on' if he didn't cotton on soon. She didn't seem to realise she was speaking aloud; Harry continued to happily feign deafness.

As the evening wore on, he found himself being passed from dance partner to dance partner. He danced with Fleur, who beamed at him and said she was glad he was there; and Gabrielle, who flushed bright red every time he touched her and seemed too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Next was Tonks, who apologised intermittently for stepping on his feet and swore loudly every time she tripped over the hem of her dress. Molly insisted on dancing with him as well, which wasn't too bad until she started asking when he was going to find himself a nice girl. He couldn't blame Charlie for preferring the dragons.

At some point a clear, bubbling drink which was rather like champagne but not exactly had been distributed. Charlie gave the traditional best man's speech, which no-one really listened to…but they applauded anyway, so it didn't really matter. Harry raised his glass in salute to the bride and groom like everyone else, and half listened to Fred and George teasing Ron about refusing to dance with Hermione.

The night wore on, and people began to drift upstairs to bed. As he pulled his dress robes off over his head and sagged onto the mattress, it struck Harry that his childhood really was over. Tomorrow he would go to visit Godric's Hollow, and then he would officially join the Order of the Phoenix. No more school. No more being told he was too young to be involved. He was an adult now, and everything that entailed.

Whether this was a good or a bad thing, he wasn't quite sure.

**I know you can't see me, but believe me when I say I'm**** grovelling**** for reviews**


	6. Going Home

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Preemptive review-grovelling is probably in order…**

**About the location I give for Godric's Hollow – in book one, right at the start, Hagrid says that baby-Harry fell asleep as they were flying over Bristol. There aren't many places in England where Bristol is between you and Surrey – I checked a map – so I didn't have much choice.**

**Chapter 6 – Going Home**

_**Wherein Harry reflects on What Might have Been, and a Decision is reached**_

Harry slept badly that night. Dim, steely predawn light filtered through the curtains and sent misty grey shadows creeping across the ceiling as he awoke the next day. He lay awake, staring at nothing for quite some time. It could have been any time between four and seven in the morning, but checking his watch would have required more effort than he felt capable of at that moment: an odd, empty feeling had settled in his chest, leaving him detached and a little light-headed.

After some time had passed he finally summoned the energy to move, and got out of bed – very quietly, so as not to wake Ron – to shower and dress. Groping blindly for the door-handle in the subdued half-light, he eventually slipped through the door and closed it carefully behind him.

The stained glass windows didn't let in a great deal of light this early, blocked out as it was by the surrounding buildings. But weeks of midnight snacks and early breakfasts had led him to remember the number of steps in every flight of stairs between his bedroom and the kitchen. Eight steps down to the gallery, left turn, turn right at the far end, then another turn halfway along and down the main flight, which had twenty-four steps. Yawning hugely, Harry wandered a little unsteadily through the crimson-carpeted hallways towards food.

Flickering candlelight shone through the gaps around the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. Harry had neither the energy nor the inclination to speculate on who might be in there at this early hour, so he just walked straight in. In fact, he had already set the kettle to boiling with an absent wave of his wand and began rummaging through the cupboards for a mug before he registered the other person's presence. He cocked his head quizzically, unsure of the correct reaction when confronted with the sight of a half-asleep Professor McGonagall sitting at a battered kitchen table at five in the morning, clutching a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," he said eventually.

She inclined her head in response; "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep, professor."

"Harry, you're not one of my students any more," she said with a weary smile; "My name is Minerva."

"Uh…okay," he responded after a moment's thought. Deciding to leave this conversation until he was a little more awake, he emerged triumphant from a cupboard with a mostly full sugar bowl and a tin of teabags. He retrieved a mug and spoon from the drying rack beside the sink and made himself a rather satisfactory cup of tea. He sank into a free chair, and there followed a silence which – to his surprise – was not even particularly awkward.

"Will you be joining the Order now?" McGonagall – or rather, Minerva – asked, regarding him over the rim of her mug.

"Soon," he replied; "I want to…visit Godric's Hollow first." The latter half of the sentence didn't want to come out at all and he took a large gulp of tea to cover his embarrassment. It didn't work very well; he ended up just scalding his tongue. She nodded understandingly, and for a moment he couldn't help but wonder where she had been that night some sixteen years ago.

"Do you know how to get there?" she tactfully skirted around the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Harry started to answer before stopping dead as he realised that _no,_ actually, he didn't. "It's near the mouth of the Severn, on the east bank. Not far from Bristol."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing, really…" She finished the last of her coffee and stood; "I think I had better leave. Barely a week till the start of term, and I have far too much still to do. I have a…a difficult act to follow, so to speak." For a moment she looked incongruously young, and Harry realised for the first time that – much as they all mourned him, and much as she hid her own feelings – she had been closer to Dumbledore than anyone else. It was probably an appropriate juncture to say something comforting, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound irredeemably stupid. Instead he gave an understanding sort of nod and maintained a diplomatic silence as she left.

For hours he sat there, clutching his cooling mug of tea as sunlight slowly crept across the stone floor. He was still sitting there at seven, when Molly came downstairs to make breakfast. "Couldn't sleep, dear?" she said sympathetically. Harry nodded mutely and suppressed a yawn.

He didn't remember eating breakfast, although he was fairly sure he must have done so. A vague memory of prodding disinterestedly at a fried egg as conversation buzzed unheeded around him remained, but it hardly mattered. Afterwards, exhausted, he slipped back up to his room to catch a little more sleep.

'A little' ended up becoming 'a lot', and it was early afternoon when he finally came to. Rubbing his eyes, he staggered to his feet to retrieve a jacked and shoes. His (unmade) bed sagged slightly as he sat down on it to tie his shoelaces.

"Harry?"

He looked up to see Hermione hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and a flash of red hair behind her which had to be Ron. She took a few steps into the room and bit her lip as if considering her next words. "We know you're going to Godric's Hollow. We were wondering…if you wanted us to come with you?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. Truthfully he didn't know if he wanted anyone with him. Yes, moral support could be good. But…he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone else there when he finally saw the place where his parents had died. Something told him it should be a private moment.

"Thanks," he said after a while; "But no. I…this is something I have to do alone, you know?"

"We understand," Hermione nodded.

"Be careful, mate," Ron added, and the two stood aside to let him pass.

It didn't take him long to reach Godric's Hollow, mainly due to his newly acquired Apparition license. Once he was in the general area McGon- _Minerva_ – damn, that was going to take some getting used to – had described, he had just asked a local for directions to Godric's Hollow. After that he'd been there inside ten minutes.

Harry wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, but…this wasn't it. Godric's Hollow was a small but busy Muggle town centered around a crossroads. The central, oldest part of it was closer to what he had imagined – rows of stone cottages with verdant front gardens – but the rest was surprisingly modern. Birds twittered in the trees as he wandered around the small town…cars trundled back and forth along the narrow streets. In the distance, a train rushed past.

It seemed like a nice place. Harry imagined growing up in Godric's Hollow: a childhood spent playing in the neat public park and attending the open, friendly-looking primary school. Long summers spent climbing trees and lying by the shallow river that wound lazily through the town. Passing a newsagents', he had a vision of a green-eyed child with dark hair and a mercifully scar-free forehead pleading with his mother for sweets. She laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately, but remained unrelenting.

And then, finally, he saw it.

The ruined shell of a home was startlingly out of place in the middle of a row of tidy little cottages. It was hard to tell what had been caused by the original explosion, and what had been caused by the decay of time. The roof had long since disappeared, as had most of two of the four outer walls. Trees and grass and ivy had taken over, and the front garden was full of dandelions which waved merrily in the breeze. Harry leant on the rotting wooden fence, feeling rather faint. Was this the house he should have grown up in? Had it really once been bright, happy home like the cottages all around it?

In the garden of the next house an elderly woman was pruning a rose bush, while two young boys, free for the summer, played football in the street outside. At the sound of childish laughter in the sunlight, Harry felt a blinding rage boiling inside him. That should have been him, once. This should have been the place he had grown up: not a sterile, unfriendly house where he was treated like a stray mongrel that wouldn't go away. He could have been _happy_ here. And some genocidal madman with delusions of grandeur had seen fit to take that away from him.

"Can I help you?"

Harry blinked and came back to reality. The old woman with the pruning shears was eyeing him suspiciously, and suddenly he felt painfully aware of the rips in the knees of his jeans and the faded state of his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, subconsciously trying to flatten his hair: "No, I was just…I only…" after some awkward stuttering he opted for the simple truth. He gestured towards the wreckage that had once been a house; "My parents lived here."

"Oh!" the woman flushed; fumbled with the shears and almost dropped them; "Oh I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," Harry said; "Really."

"Still, I…" she laid the shears aside carefully; "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Harry had intended to politely refuse and be on his way, but nevertheless he somehow found himself sitting on a worn sofa while the woman – whose name turned out to be Mary – bustled around the kitchen. He chewed his lower lip nervously and accepted the tea gratefully, because while he was drinking he wasn't required to speak.

"They were a lovely young couple," Mary said sadly, sipping her own tea; "Newly married when they moved in, and the nicest neighbours you could have asked for. And then one night…well, you saw for yourself. Gas leak, it turned out to be. Terrible business."

_Gas leak_, Harry thought. Was that what the Ministry had told the local Muggles? He could just imagine some plain-clothes official spreading the rumour, tweaking the evidence to make it fit. Mary chatted on with the amiable imperturbability of someone who's quite used to no-one listening to her, reminiscing about her old neighbours – Harry blushed furiously at the assertion that he'd been an 'adorable baby' – and inquiring gently about where he'd been for the past sixteen years. He gave a heavily edited version of his life story: he'd been raised by his aunt and uncle, had just finished school, and now he was planning to join the…he cast around for the nearest Muggle equivalent to 'Aurors' and came up with 'police'. She nodded approvingly at that, and Harry finished his tea and suggested in the politest possible terms that he should probably be getting home.

It was late when he arrived back in Glasgow again, the sun slipping down in the sky on its journey towards night. The city was as busy as ever, and Harry had to elbow his way through the crowd on his back to Headquarters. As he slipped into the alley behind the boarded-up cinema, Harry made a decision. He was going to kill Voldemort. He was going to end the war. Seeing what could have been his home had steeled his resolve. He was not going to let the Death Eaters destroy any more lives.

**I know I'm not going to get this finished before book 7 comes out. But I don't care – I will carry on with the plot I had previously decided on regardless of what happens in the latest book. This will end up being very AU. I don't care.**

**Reading without reviewing – the eighth deadly sin.**


	7. Initiation

**Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent**

**Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes**

**Fandom: Harry Potter**

**Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet**

**Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR**

**Chapter 7 – Initiation**

_**Wherein Confusion Reigns, and the Order acquires some New Members**_

Harry was worried that he might have missed dinner, but when he got the Headquarters he found the place in uproar and no sign of any sort of food. Clearly dinner was the least of everyone's worries at that moment. People were hurrying back and forth, shouting instructions to each other, and every fireplace in the building was in use as they Floo-ed from place to place. Harry stood in the doorway, staring at the scene in bewilderment as snatches of frantic conversation drifted past.

"…no casualties as far as we know, but it's still…"

"…can't cover it up – the Mark was there…"

"…International Co-operation are having a collective aneurysm…"

"…Kingsley's talking to our contacts in the French Ministry, but…"

Gabrielle was crying hysterically with her arms around her father, who was ranting loudly and angrily at Marc in French. As he watched, Fleur ran up to them, tailed by her mother. Harry blinked in confusion and tried to find someone to explain to him what was going on. Seeing the younger residents watching from the gallery, he hurried up there. Ginny and Hermione were comforting a sobbing Veronique – Harry skirted around them and walked over to Ron.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Oh, there you are," Ron said; "Far as I can make out, Death Eaters attacked Fleur's family's place in France. They don't know if anyone's been killed yet, but the French Ministry's going crazy. It happened a couple of hours ago – this place's been a madhouse ever since."

After it became clear that the problem wasn't going to be resolved any time soon, Molly Weasley came upstairs and roped them into helping her feed all the Order members who would be missing dinner. Ginny was allowed to stay with Veronique, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were handed huge trays of tea and sandwiches to carry around. People snatched sandwiches as the passed and ate them on the move, while others tried not to spill tea as they ran.

It carried on well into the night, and the amount of noise and general panic in the air made it impossible to sleep. Harry didn't even try – he and the others who were too young to be involved sat in the kitchen with hot drinks and biscuits. Veronique was whisked away by her parents around midnight. Shortly after that, an extremely harassed-looking Minerva McGonagall emerged from the fireplace and hurried through to the library.

Occasionally, charitable-feeling people (Or people who wanted an excuse to sit down for a minute) dropped in to fill them in on what was going on. Tonks explained to them that apparently the French Ministry were insisting that they – meaning Britain in general – should be containing Voldemort and his followers, since he was their problem in the first place. Fred and George spent close to twenty minutes hovering around, trying to be inconspicuous, until Mrs. Weasley ordered them back to work.

Around two in the morning, exhausted-looking Order-members began to file into the kitchen for what had to be another meeting. Molly sent Ginny up to bed, objections falling on deaf ears. She would have done the same to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but Lupin stopped her: "They're of age, Molly, and they'll be joining the Order soon anyway. It won't make much difference if they stay." She directed a glare at the three delighted teenagers, but said nothing.

"Pay attention, everybody," Minerva said loudly, standing at the head of the table; "This is still important, but no longer a crisis. We have ascertained that no-one was killed in the attack, although the house itself was wrecked. The French have agreed not to make a diplomatic incident of this in exchange for certain concessions from our Ministry. Kingsley, Tonks, I want both of you to talk to as many people as you can from the Department of International Magical Co-operation and try to find out exactly what the deal was, understood?" She nodded in satisfaction as they both answered in the affirmative: "Monsieur and Madame Delacour will be going home in the morning, but they feel it is unsafe to take their children back to France…" here she sighed; "They will be staying here with us. Fleur and Marc are to join the Order; Veronique and Gabrielle will go to Hogwarts. Any questions? No? Fine. Since we're all here anyway, there are a few other things we might as well get out of the way. Bill…?"

Bill Weasley stood and cleared his throat; "Just a few people being moved around on the duty roster. Charlie, we need you back in Romania – see if you can talk any of the vampire clans around. Since we're still short a spy, Mundungus and Tonks, I'm afraid you're both on double shifts until we can pull a few more people to help you: sorry about that. We're still not finished clearing out of Grimmauld Place, so if anyone with free time over the next few weeks could help us out, that'd make life a lot easier. Oh, and we're swearing in our new recruits tomorrow – sorry, later today – so you'll be told call signs some time in the evening probably. Next meeting should be a week on Saturday…which reminds me, we'll need volunteers to take the young ones to Diagon Alley for school supplies, and to the train on Tuesday. Talk to Molly about that if you're interested. Good night everybody."

"I don't suppose by 'new recruits' he meant us as well?" Ron said hopefully as they climbed the stairs to bed.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said; "I imagine they'll tell us tomorrow if they did."

"I hope so," Harry grinned.

Hermione went in the opposite direction from the boys at the top of the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Ginny…where, Harry suspected, the younger girl was waiting to be filled in on what had happened. He and Ron fell into their own beds in exhaustion, and Harry groaned as he saw the clock on his bedside table – it was almost three in the morning. Merlin, what a day it had been…

"I forgot to ask what happened today," Ron's voice drifted through the darkness a while later; "Did you get to Godric's Hollow?"

"Yeah," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling.

"What was it like?"

"The village was nice. My old house was all burnt out…looked like it'd exploded or something."

"Oh…" A period of silence; "G'night."

"Yeah, good night…or morning…or whatever it is…" Harry said around a yawn. The only reply was a soft snoring.

Harry wasn't sure what time he awoke, but warm golden sunlight was streaming in through the window. He kept his eyes tightly shut, because if he opened them he would have to acknowledge the fact that it was morning now and he was supposed to get out of bed. His bed was warm and comfortable, and he really didn't want to leave it.

"Are you two awake?"

Harry groaned at the sound of Hermione's voice, inordinately cheerful and bright and above all _awake_ for this time in the morning. He heard Ron say 'no!' in a determined tone of voice from the other bed, at which Hermione tutted disapprovingly: "Honestly! You're going to miss breakfast if you don't get up."

"Then wake us for lunch," Ron muttered, and there was a sound of shifting quilts which indicated he was burying his head under the pillow. Harry continued pretending to be asleep.

"Fine," Hermione huffed; "But don't complain to me when your _mother_ comes to get you up…"

The door clicked shut, and they heard her footsteps receding down the hallway. Harry opened his eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster right above his bed, twisting away towards the window, branching out across the otherwise stark whiteness. The deep red curtains were open a little, sunlight spilling through them. Dust motes danced and twisted silently in the still air as they drifted through the single beam of sun.

"D'you reckon we oughta get up?" Ron said eventually.

"Suppose so," Harry conceded reluctantly.

"Alright then. First in the shower." Creaking floorboards mapped his path across the floor to the bathroom. Harry closed his eyes again. _Five more minutes can't hurt…_

Five minutes turned to ten, and fifteen, and then Ron whipped the covers off his bed and threw a towel at him. The water in the shower was pleasantly cool, which woke him up a little. Harry dressed quickly without really noticing what he was putting on and they headed down to breakfast together.

"Well finally!" Molly said when they arrived in the dining room; "I was starting to think you weren't coming!" Neither of the boys responded: they simply shoveled as much food as they could onto their plates. The room was filled with bleary-eyed Order members desperately trying to stay awake. No-one spoke, except for quiet pleas that the coffee pot be passed in their direction. When breakfast was over Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sent upstairs with orders to make themselves presentable. Confused, they obeyed.

When they were called back downstairs, Molly directed them to seats in the sitting room before hurrying out again. Harry sat on one of the couches, between his two best friends, all three of them wondering what was going on. After a short while Molly ushered Fleur and Marc in. Both of them seemed rather bewildered as well – Harry had to assume they didn't know what was going on either. Molly quickly left.

Awkward silence followed.

They were spared further embarrassment when Minerva McGonagall strode into the room in a flurry of robes. She looked even more harassed than usual; her hair was falling out of its tight bun and there were flecks of ink on her hands and robes. The five young men and women shifted a little in their seats as she stared sternly at them over the rims of her spectacles. Harry felt like a first year again.

"The five of you are to join the Order of the Phoenix," she said without preamble, placing her hands on her hips; "I'm sure I need not emphasise what a grave responsibility this is, or the danger you will be in. I am confident, however, that you will be more than capable of handling the tasks you are given. Now, to business…"

From inside her robes she produced a scroll, headed with the words 'the Order of the Phoenix' in ornate writing – Harry craned to see better – and the names of what had to be every Order member. There were names he didn't recognise, the list far longer than could be accounted for by people he knew. Clearly the Order was larger than he'd thought. Most of the names were picked out in shiny green ink, although a few were shading to yellow…but the occasional name was in dead, dull black. A shiver crept up his spine as Minerva laid the scroll flat on the coffee table, and he saw what those names were; _Sirius Orpheus Black, Emmeline Vance, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore:_ dead names.

"The scroll is part of a tracking spell placed on all Order members," she explained, noting their curious stares; "The colour corresponds to their wellbeing. Now I'll add you…"

She pulled out her wand and began muttering incantations while her wand-tip moved in complicated patterns. Harry watched in fascination as new names inscribed themselves in shining green at the bottom of the list: _Hermione Margaret Granger, Ronald Weasley, Harry James Potter, Fleur Amandine Lois Weasley, Marc Raphael Delacour_…

"Is that it?" Ron blurted, then flushed.

Minerva gave a weary nod and rolled up the scroll again, slipping it inside her robes. She clasped her hands together and smiled at her five newest recruits: "Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

**Review? Please?**


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